Ill
by Screaming Faeries
Summary: Bellatrix never stopped battling with her insanity. M for violence, sexual references.


**A.N: **Written for the "_150 Descriptive Words_" challenge. I should have done this SO damn long ago.

Descriptive Word: Ill

* * *

Bellatrix spat the thermometre out of her mouth with such ferocity that it bounced across the wooden floor, making several dull _thud'_s.

There was a bleak silence, as her blonde haired sister stared at her intently.

"I'm not sick," Bellatrix muttered. "I'm not ill."

Narcissa simply sighed and shook her head, looking away.

* * *

The first day, her heart was as black and empty as the cloak she wore. She tied him, crucifix-style, to his bed. Arms either side, legs splayed out, roped to all four bedposts, and made herself comfortable; straddling his waist. If not for the bindings, this could be interpreted as an intimate scene. That was how it started. Thats how Blaise thougth it was going to be.

That's how Bellatrix played. Absoloutely dirty.

Tears streamed down Blaise Zabini's face, but no sound escaped from his lips. He simply stared up at the wide eyed witch, shocked, suprised.

Bellatrix laughed. Poor, young Zabini. Innocent, untained Zabini. He'd been expected the best sex of his life with an older, mature woman. Pity. _Pity._

She punched him in the stomach. Repeatedly, until he bruised and the blood congested under his skin and turned purple. He groaned, and spat at her with the small amount of strenth he had. This irratated her, of course.

"Stupid...blood-traitor, Zabini! Claiming you detest the likes of half-bloods and breeds and mudbloods! How can you not turn to the dark lord, hmm? How could you ignore your rightful place...you...and your wretched mother..." She continued to thump him over and over again, in the same place. Oh, how badly she wanted to rip his throat out right there.

But no. This was an experiment. _Stick to the rules, Bellatrix. _

"Get out," whispered Bellatrix. Blaise looked up at her, questioning beneath the pain and horror. "Not you," She hissed. "Die, die, die." A punch on every syllable. The rat choked and blood trickled from the side of his mouth. He simply would not let go to life, despite choking on the fear from her brutal method.

Giving up, Bellatrix turned her wand on the boy, and left unnoticed, a dead body in her wake.

* * *

"It's not natural, Bella," Narcissa was saying. Bellatrix couldn't help but feel a tinsy, tiny tad of deja vu. Narcissa seemed to say the same thing, every week. Every Sunday when Narcissa came to visit, along with her thermometre and magically enhanced blanket. All set to give a heavily hungover Bellatrix The Lecture. "You didn't even have reason, Bella! You started off just fantasizing about death and destruction, but no, I never thought you would follow on! The cruciatus curse, understandable. _Avada Kedavra_, even. But Blaise Zabini had no reason to die, at least not with the formiddable muggle method you were so adamant to use!"

"Occulumency wasn't always your strong point, wasn't it, Cissy?" Bellatrix yawned sloppily. "Funny how you managed to delve into my thoughts without me even noticing. And _talk _at the same time."

"Bella! You know you're a better Occulumens than me. You could have easily blocked that. You're still drunk. And ill. Very, very ill."

"It was one boy, Cissy! One silly little boy!"

"That's not the point!" Narcissa practically screamed. The glass in her hand shattered, leaving behind a dull, empty silence. Bellatrix stared at the place where the glass had been, in Narcissa's hand. The blonde breathed out heavily, and spoke again, her words lower. "You will get yourself thrown back into Azkaban, Bellatrix. You may be able to kill and torture under the Dark Lords hand, but you just killed a boy for _no reason_! And a _Slytherin _as well. A pure blood. One of the most respectable of pure blood families, even if he did not wish to be a Death Eater."

"Drone on, Cissy," Bellatrix flapped her hand in her sisters direction. "I need to sleep. Three days, thats all. Just three days."

Narcissa opened her mouth to question Bellatrix, but a heavy breath, indicating her sleep, was thrown in her direction. She hung her head and sighed.

* * *

The second day, the next week, Bellatrix wore white.

She wasn't one for wearing white. As a child, she was interested in modern, fairytale witches. Black dresses and fishnet tights appealed to her fashion sense greatly, but for some reason this night, she wanted to wear white.

_Because red looks so much better on white._

"Get out," Bellatrix ordered, closing her eyes immediately.

"Excuse me?" Her bedmate for the night, Rabastan Lestrange. Her brother-in-law. He loomed over her, clearly unscathed by the fact that he thought he was about sexually entertain his own brothers beloved _wife_.

"Not you," Bellatrix murmured hastily, her dark, heavy lidded eyes sweeping over the room, before settling on his face. She puckered her lips ever so slightly, and he leaned down to kiss her. Inside she was cringing, she never did like Rabastan. But it was worth it.

Reaching into her pocket as he was consumed by the kiss, she pulled out a generous length of thick, plastic wire. She'd torn it off a chain-link fence on her way. After managing to wind her arms around his broad shoulders without him noticing that the _wire was trapped underneath his neck-_

"Nnghh!"

Before Rabastan could reach up and grapple at Bellatrix's hands, she was already looping the wire several times around his neck and pulling at the strings tighter. The skin beneath the wire was bulging, blood rushing to his head, his face slowly turning scarlet, crimson to purple. His lips faded blue, and his wide, bloodshot eyes glared down at Bellatrix. He choked on his tongue, saliva dripping from his lip and narrowly missing Bellatrix's face.

But there was something missing. Something Bellatrix had worn white deliberately for.

"Why won't you _bleed_?" She hissed scathingly, her fist tightening around the wire. "Bleed!"

Oh, how badly she wanted to use that spell. Snapes spell. What was it? _Sectumsempra. _The smooth word was poised at the back of her throat, ready to pounce. _No Bellatrix. Stick to your guns. _

"It's an experiment," she said loudly. She looked up at Rabastan. "An experiment! Bleed!"

But strangulation didn't cause breakage of the skin. Bellatrix groaned in exasperation when Rabastan gave one last unearthly grunt, choke, and his head lolled forwards onto Bellatrix's shoulder. She threw him off in anger. "Why can't I win? Why can't I?" She begged to herself softly, as she climbed to her feet and made her exit silently.

* * *

"Idiot girl!" Narcissa threw her hands up in the air.

Bellatrix had no energy to argue. She simply let Narcissa do her bit, and cuss into the night.

* * *

The third day, she settled for red.

Red, red, red.

Why red?

_Can't see the bloodstains, Bellatrix_.

"Get out," mumbled Bellatrix. Today there would be blood.

The sunset-headed dragon-tamer would be a challenge. She _loved _a challenge, and this sure as hell would prove her skills to be magnificent, as she liked to believe. Charlie Weasley was a blood traitor. Well truthfully, it was just the _blood _which was traitorous, not the the body bagging it. He would recline at the sight of her; Bellatrix Lestrange, Azkaban escapee, who tortured family friends beyond their wits. He'd put up a good fight. Something for her to humor. Today, Bellatrix wasn't relying on useless methods of strangulation and bare handiwork. She was going straight in for the kill with taboo in her hands; a knife big enough to measure up to a small toddler.

It did mean she had to apparate all the way to Hungary though, and risked splinching an eyelash.

Bellatrix was never one to take intimate fancies with men, even when she married. But Charlie Weasley sure was a sight for sore eyes. She almost forgot she was highly pureblood, he was from a line of traitors, and her mother would turn in her grave. The sun shone down on his bare back as he bent to retrieve something from the ground, muscles in his shoulders and spine rippling with tension. She almost imagined he smiled at her when he turned around, but snapping back to reality, he was snarling. The sun seemed to disintergrate, the air turning darker, and Bellatrix whipped the knife out from her robes menacingly.

He backed up suddenly. Sure, a wand was powerful, but he was in the middle of digging a rather large - and pointless - hole. It'd just been something to do to pass the time. He hadn't need a _reason _to use a wand. And here was this...idiot...crazy-eyed woman, staring at him with a toothy smile that would scare away a cheetah.

Carrying a knife that she most _certainly _hadn't brought to chop up chickens with.

As she lunged towards him, fists raised in the air, with the metal handle beneath her white-knuckled fingers, there was a flash, and hands wrapped around Bellatrix's ankles, and she was pulled back down to earth, away from Charlie. Without looking to see who her intruder was, Bellatrix turned with an ear-ripping scream, and plunged the knife into the chest of the uninvited guest. Blood splashed back onto Bellatrix's face, and hit her across the eye.

"Bellatrix-" choked the person beneath her. Bellatrix looked down, and screamed once more.

"Narcissa!" She howled at the blonde. Bellatrix reached out and shook her sister by the shoulders, only provoking her oncoming death. "Why did you? Why did you do that?"

"You are ill," Narcissa murmured, her voice losing strength. "So God-damn ill."

"I know!" Bellatrix moaned, leaning back on her ankles and staring at the sky. _You're ill Bellatrix, so God-damn ill! _"Stop taunting me," Bellatrix whispered.

"Bella?" Narcissa gazed up at her elder sister. So questioningly. So sorrowfully. So _pitifully_.

Bellatrix stood up, with a deep breath. "I came here for blood." She reached down and touched the wound in her sisters chest, the knife jutting menacingly from it. "And blood I got."

There was no more to be done, said, or otherwise. Bellatrix turned on the spot, and left with her demons.


End file.
